


Strawberry Blossoms

by borrowedphrases



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 05:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17380157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/pseuds/borrowedphrases
Summary: All of the cells in my body scream that it’s you.





	Strawberry Blossoms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justanothernobody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothernobody/gifts).



> First time trying my hand at Hanahaki AU. I hope my giftee enjoys it!

It starts during Changmin's first month of basic training.

He's on a run, the rhythmic thump of his footfalls echoing vibrations up through his bones. His body is keeping the steady pace, while his mind drifts through idle wanderings. He's thinking about home, about his parents and his sisters, how, like watercolor paintings, the lines of their proud smile were smudged by tears. He's thinking about the years ahead of him, two long years sacrificed in service to his country. He's thinking about what lies on the other side of uniforms and yes sirs and smoking guns, of whether that sparkling pearl red ocean will be waiting to greet him on that distant horizon.

He's thinking about Yunho smiling proudly at him, his head shaved and his cheeks rounded from proper meals and proper sleep. He's thinking about Yunho beside him on stage, dancing his soul ablaze and singing until his lungs give out.

He's thinking about Yunho as he reaches the end of the run, as he tips a canteen back so that tepid water can soothe his own raw throat. Something catches around his tonsils, something that feels like grit, or sand, or a bit of inhaled hair. He covers his mouth with the inside of his elbow and coughs, eyes watering from the nag of the tickle. He wipes his mouth on his wrist, drags the back of his hand across his brow to wik the sweat away.

Changmin doesn't notice the tiny white flower petal that clings to his sleeve.

↭

Changmin finds military service a lot less fulfilling than Yunho seems to. It's something he has to do, something that he needs to get through, before he can get on with his life. It feels like his been placed on pause, that the sprite of his character is idling on the screen of his life, waiting for Changmin to pick up the controller again and get on with things.

Yunho is thriving, giving his service as much dedication as he's given everything else he's done with his life. When Changmin sees him - and the times when their leaves line up are few and far between - he looks healthier than he has in years, glowing cheeks and well rested eyes. He's put on weight in addition to his muscles, and for the first time since Changmin has known him he doesn't seem self-conscious about it.

Yunho has dedicated himself to being the best at what he's doing, whatever he's doing, while Changmin is just going through the motions required of him.

He calls Yunho whenever he can manage to line up their down time. They talk about service, about whatever recent commendations Yunho has been awarded, about Changmin's boredom and feelings of isolation. Yunho is kind as always, supportive when he needs to be and gently scolding when Changmin is sliding a bit too far in on himself.

Changmin calls Yunho these days, rather than Yunho calling Changmin. When he hears that sweet familiar voice his chest always feels tighter, like something is squeezing at his lungs. When he coughs it's almost like he can state perfume on his lips, something cloying and floral, old fashioned, like the kind Yunho's mother wears, the kind that lingers on his clothes after she's given him a hug like he's also her son.

Changmin always waits for Yunho to hang up first, waits as the silence of the ended call hums against his cheek. He coughs against the phone, raw and raspy, eyes closed against the sting in his eyes and the dry ache in his throat. He wipes the little white petals away before anyone else can see, crushing then with blunted fingernails against the lines of his palm.

↭

Their cheeks and lips are painted red from the wine, Kyuhyun's slightly richer in rouge. They're an hour into the new year already, but neither of them have made note of it, too flushed and giggly from ruddy tannin and kimchi heat. They're legs are tangled up together on the couch, sprawling long and loose with bare ankles pressed warmly together. Changmin feels good, warm and comfortable. His muscles feel loose and relaxed in ways they haven't since his service began.

Kyuhyun tugs the cork out of a third bottle of Côtes du Rhône, refreshing their empty glasses with a few measured fingers. He gives his own cup a swirl, inhaling deeply before letting the wine wash over his grape-stained tongue. Changmin is too far buzzed to bother with the whole ritual, ignoring Kyuhyun raising an eyebrow at him as he simply takes a large swig of his wine.

"Seen Yunho recently?"

The question cuts through the warmth in the room, cuts through the comfortable shared silence. Changmin chokes, even with no wine left in his mouth. He coughs as if he's inhaled his drink, sputtering thick and wet. The cough keeps going, making his entire being shake as he doubles over, very nearly sloshing his wine onto Kyuhyun's innocent carpet. He feels nimble fingers pry the glass out of his grip, hears the little plink as his drink is set down on the coffee table, then he feels a kind hand giving him a gentle thump on the back. Another hand offer him a tissue, which he quickly offers his coughing too like he's begging it for mercy.

Changmin draws in a rasping breath after his cough has faded out, his throat feeling raw despite the weirdly wet tickling sensation that's still thick around his tonsils. He leans back into the couch, eyes closed and chest shaking, his hands limply unfolding in his lap.

"Whoa."

Kyuhyun's voice cuts through Changmin's exhausted haze, and he carefully blinks past the moisture in his his eyes so he can look at his friend. Kyuhyun's gaze is focussed downward, and Changmin follows it to the tissue resting in his own open palm. Weirdly stark against the bleached white of the soft paper rest several little white flower petals. Small and slight, just as before, this time scattered in with them our a few whole flowers. They almost look like miniature daisies, their centers a rick yellow peaking out from the petals like over-easy egg yolks.

"That's pretty fucked up," says Kyuhyun.

Changmin can't find reason to disagree with him.

↭

In his limbs Changmin feels like it's been ages since he last went out on a stage, much longer than what his brain is telling him. Going out there without Yunho, without all the stage theatrics and background support of their dancers and band, it feels almost like those dreams where one ends up attending school naked. He doesn't have trouble singing, doesn't miss a step in his dancing, but it still feels not good enough, like his heart just isn't fully into it.

It's toward the end of the uniformed performance that he starts to feel that horrible clogging sensation in his throat again, this time extending downward, his lungs feeling heavier, like he can't quite draw a proper breath. There's the taste of perfume of his lips and a subtle floral scent in his nose. He manages to hold every last note while he's still on stage, manages to keep his dancing energetic and precise.

When it's over he very nearly trips off the stage, staggering off to the side so others can pass him by. He drops to his knees as the cough begins, as he shudders and trembles, eyes watering and mouth drooling out onto the floor between the splayed press of his hands. 

"Changmin!" Donghae's voice, like he's coming from far away, down a long tunnel or from the opposite end of a big room. His hand settles between Changmin's quaking shoulder blades, warm and wide and sturdy.

The same little white petals fall from Changmin's mouth, much more of them than before, most of them full flowers now. Little white blossoms that stick to his tongue and get caught against the backs of his teeth. He can feel the tickle of them in the back of his nose, feel them rattling about deep inside his chest. 

"Dude," Donghae's voice is a lot closer now, soft, his breath warm against Changmin's ear. "Breathe with me," Donghae continues. "Nice and slow, just like that. Easy."

Changmin crumples against Donghae's side once his coughing fit ends, or maybe it's just that his body has run out of too much energy to care. His breaths are weak, and they rattle thickly on each inhale. Donghae is holding him up, one steady arm wrapped around his side, hand rubbing up and down Changmin's arm.

"So," Donghae's voice drops to a whisper, for only Changmin to hea. "Who are you in love with?"

"I-" Changmin gives one more weak half hearted cough. He licks his lips, swallows down hard, then tilts his head back so he can look at Donghae's face as he tries again. "What?"

"The flowers," Donghae says as he glances down at the scattered mess of them on the backstage floor. "Means you're in love with someone."

There's a sad softness in Donghae's eyes that makes Changmin's skin crawl a little. He doesn't want pitty for this… this whatever this is. He just wants to leave it well enough alone, let it go away like any other illness he's suffered from beyond. But there's something else in Donghae's eyes beyond pitty. Changmin can't be certain, but it almost seems like understanding, like his knowledge of this is based on experience. 

Changmin closes his eyes, head shaking weakly against Donghae's shoulder. "I don't know."

↭

Changmin's learned to live with the taste of perfume, with scenting something familiarly fruity each time he exhales. It's harder to live with the sporadic coughing fits, the wheezing, the wake up from choking in his sleep. He continues to do his absolute best with his police service, keeps to his schedule with the same level of efficiency he puts into any of his work. He refuses to see a doctor about his condition, despite the nagging messages from Kyuhyun, despite the worried glances Donghae gives when he thinks Changmin isn't looking.

Donghae keeps asking him who it is. Changmin might be inclined to tell him just to make him shut up, if he himself had any idea. He doesn't remember falling in love, not for a long while anyway, and certainly not around the time when all this started. It's not like he had a lot of opportunities to date or even meet knew people in the weeks leading up to basic training, and especially not in the months since. 

Changmin hasn't told Yunho about it. He's made everyone else who knows about the flowers crawling through his respiratory system swear not to tell him. Yunho is deep into his army service, has thrown his all into, Changmin refuses to be a reason for him to get distracted.

So when they arrange to meet while they're both on leave, and a public meeting no less, Changmin does everything he can to fight off the sensation of growing things inside his chest. He takes cough medicine and sucks on lozenges to keep the coughing fits at bay, swishes mouthwash to keep the scent of fruit and flowers out of his mouth. He's going to greet Yunho and they're going to have lunch together and everything is going to be just fine.

Eyes meet across the cafe, and that smile like the sun greets him for the first time in far too long. Changmin can feel renewed tightness beneath his ribs, feel his diaphragm spasm painfully as he swallows down the need to cough. The closer Yunho comes as he crosses the crowded room, the harder Changmin fights it to keep himself from exploding, the slighter and more raspy his closed-mouthed breaths become.

He doesn't let it show when it dawns on him, when the pieces all click into place like the world's most obvious puzzle. Two large pieces that he should have known went together.

It's Yunho.

He's in love with Yunho.

Changmin rights his posture, standing at attention as he offers his hyung a tight lipped smile and a formal salute.

↭

And just like that, Changmin's two years are up. His service is over. He can go home, can go back to the life he lived before. He says goodbye to friends old and new, received his discharge with grace and dignity, packs the few personal items he was allowed, and then he's a free man again.

Changmin's not sure how he managed to survive those last few months, his coughing fits getting more and more frequent, his breathing more and more haggard, his sleep cycle more and more interrupted and brief. It's as if figuring out the object of his affection made his affliction begin working overdrive, wearing him down with a vigor resembling pneumonia. But somehow he manages, somehow it makes it though.

He throws himself into preparing for the comeback, throws his everything into creative planning sessions, private vocal retraining, and grueling dance rehearsals. When he's with Yunho he focusses on the music they share, in their renewed goals together and their anxiety over how long they've been out of the public eye. He tries to be content with this, tries to ignore his condition. Tries to fall out of love with his lifelong partner and dearest friend.

Every night when he returns home, finally alone, he rushes to his bathroom and coughs up handfuls of blossoms. They fall into the toilet like a hangover until he's certain his plumbing won't be able to handle flushing them away. They spill into his sink when he thought the fit over, more and more each night. He coughs himself dizzy, chokes on the flowers until he's left gasping on the floor, cool against his back and blurred vision making patterns from the shadows on his ceiling.

Every night he thinks _this is it, I'm going to die._ Every night he wakes up in a daze, still dressed, still lying on his bathroom floor. He washes his mouth out, strips down his his underwear - sometimes he showers, but usually not - and then staggers down the hallway to his bed.

↭

They're running through this number for what feels like the tenth time, though it's probably only just the fourth or fifth. Changmin's breathing is labored, his body covered in more sweat than it should be, his limbs aching like he's a great deal older than his 30 years. He's growing increasingly more frustrated, with himself, with the way his hips just don't want to twist like they shoulder, with the stern look Yunho keeps giving him each time he falls behind a step or two.

Fifth - or maybe sixth? - time through and he doesn't just miss a few beats, doesn't just stumble a little in his steps. He staggers, suddenly unable to breathe, the room spinning around in his vision, the lights blurring out in rainbow sunbursts before his eyes. His knees hit the practice room floor with a horrible crack that he can feel all the way into his teeth.

"Changmin?" 

Changmin thinks that's Yunho's voice, but it could just as easily be their manager, or one of the other dancers, hell, maybe it's his own damn voice echoing around inside his head. 

Crumpled forward over the floor, Changmin fights to draw in deep gasps, the rattling thick and wet sounding now, like phlegm or bile rising up in his throat. His mouth works like a fish, opening and closing spasmodically as he sucks in as much air as he can get past the growing mass of flowers he can feel growing all through his lungs. He gags, chokes, spits up mouthfuls of tiny white blossoms onto the floor, but nothing seems to help. Not this time.

"Changmin!"

 _This is it,_ he thinks and his vision blurs with black and he collapses flat onto the floor. _this time I really am dying._.

↭

There's soft beeping beside him, and a faint rushing sound like bellows. He can hear muffled, mechanical voices, far off and indistinct, like they're not quite in the room with him. There's an ache inside his nose, and when he shifts his head he can feel something at the back of his throat.

"Changminnie," a soft voice says, as a warm hand folds around his own chilled fingers. "Easy. Easy now, don't try to move around too much."

Yunho.

Of course it's Yunho.

Changmin's eyes snap open, and he feels like he's choking again, but it's… it's not the same as before. It's not so wet and thick, it's more firm, less organic, and he can feel air moving in and out of his lungs. A pitiful sound echos through the room, like a weak sob, and it's not until he sees the knitting together of Yunho's eyebrows that he realizes the sound came from his own body.

"Changdola," Yunho whispers as his free hand brushes down bangs off Changmin's brow. His eyes are red, bloodshot all through the whites like he's been crying, or like when he hasn't slept for days. Changmin doesn't like the idea of either of those, and he manages a frown.

"Why didn't you tell me what you were going through?" Yunho's voice wavers toward the end there, fresh tears shining in his eyes. He draws in a breath - the smoothness of it making Changmin's chest ache with envy - and blinks up at the ceiling for a moment until the tears pass.

"No," Yunho offers Changmin a sad little smile. "No it's okay. You were probably trying to keep me from worrying, right? My little Changminnie, always watching out for your Hyung. Always putting my needs before your own. Always taking care of me."

Changmin's mouth works for a moment before he realizes that he can't speak, that the tubes feeding down inside him, that are forcing air past the flora in his lungs, are rendering him mute but for a few soft, wheezing, _pathetic_ little sounds. He turns to glare at the machines beside him, as if this is all their fault, and the furrow in his brow only eases when he hears a small laugh from Yunho.

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything. I really- I do understand." Yunho gives Changmin's hand a little squeeze. He looks down at their joined grips, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth in a way Changmin would normally scold him for - no wonder his lips are always chapped! - and looking like he's the one who should feel guilty right now.

"I mean," Yunho breathes in, then out, then seems to force his gaze up to Changmin's face again. "It's not like I ever told you when I was suffering from the same thing."

Changmin blinks, stares, then blinks again. Then he fights against the tubs in his throat, against the vines under his ribs, growing with a choked little gurgle as he struggles to talk despite everything inside him. Yunho, for his part, has the self-awareness to look guilty at least, so Changmin stops struggling in favor of just fixing him with the mother of all glares. 

"I know! I- I know. It was a long time ago though, now. At the time I didn't want to worry anyone, was trying to be the invulnerable leader, then after I had the surgery it just didn't seem important anyone." Yunho gives another soft laugh, this one sheepish and self-directed. 

"I should back up a bit, maybe?" Yunho winces when Changmin gives a sharp nod.

"Yes, what's wrong with you can be fixed. There's a surgery for it, it gets rid of the illness and cuts off the… source of it. You won't be in pain anymore, you won't be in love, you'll be alive and just fine. It's not a life-threatening procedure, though there is a chance…" Yunho coughs once, then brings his hand up to his own neck, to the long line of his old surgery scar. They'd needed to remove growths, or so Yunho had told everyone, even his own family. Changmin knows immediately what Yunho was going to say, what words now hang heavy between them, even unspoken.

There's a chance he won't be able to sing again.

Yunho looks at him like he's both something broken and something so precious that he could never be broken, not in Yunho's eyes. It makes Changmin's chest rattle as a fresh wave of petals fights to push past the air tubes, makes the respirator sound angry for a pained moment until things settle out inside Changmin again. 

"Hey," Yunho scoots a little closer, brushing his hand over Changmin's forehead again. "It'll be okay. You'll have the surgery. You'll have it and come out fine and your voice will be fine and we'll have the very best comeback we've ever had. You… You will have the surgery, right?"

Yunho is looking at him with such earnest hope, with such pained pleading, that Changmin almost wishes he'd already gone through the surgery, that he was lying in a recovery bed, breathing freely and coming down from a drugged high, just so Yunho wouldn't be making that face at him.

Changmin wants to say yes just to make Yunho happy, just to wipe his worry away and make him smile bright like a sunflower. He would do anything for Yunho, he's always known that, he's always practiced that. But if he has the surgery then he'll lose this feeling, this affection, this dedication.

If he has the surgery he won't be in love with Yunho anymore.

Somehow that scares him far more than the possibility that he might lose his singing voice.

"Minnie?"

Changmin closes his eyes, because he can't bare to look at Yunho as he shakes his head - slowly, making sure Yunho sees the full motion of his answer, knows it's not just a bodily shift or sudden spasm - though he does give Yunho's hand an apologetic squeeze.

" _Changmin,_ " Yunho's voice breaks, give grip going anchor heavy. "Changmin if you don't have the surgery, and the person you love doesn't love you back, you'll _die._."

Changmin knows. Somehow, he's known this all along, even back when he hadn't realized just who he was in love with, when he wasn't _allowing_ himself to realize that he was in love with Yunho. He's known that this is going to be fatal, that he really is going to die choking on pretty little flowers. 

Yunho shakes beside him, and Changmin opens his eyes to see Yunho crying for only the second time in all their years together. His heart breaks a little - _at least it's able to break_ , he thinks - and he turns his head slightly so that he can gaze up at the ceiling, give Yunho a tiny bit of privacy with his tears. 

There are the softest sounds of sniffling, and the little clicking breaths of held back sobs. Yunho is fighting to get himself back under control, and Changmin gives him the time he needs, even though he wishes Yunho could just let go, let himself cry. He deserves to break down sometimes, deserves to crumble down from his role as leader. Changmin finds his eyes closing as he listens to Yunho's quiet breakdown. Gradually, exhaustion starts to take him, that floating feeling of being on the edge of sleep rolling over him. 

Yunho must think he's already properly asleep, because he scoots a little closer to Changmin, and the sounds of him crying come just a bit louder, and bit more freely. There's a dip in the mattress beside him, as Yunho rests his head down. He breathes heavily a few times, his hand still clutching to Changmin's, and then Changmin can hear him whispering. 

"Please, please don't die, my Minnie." His voice is achingly soft, threaded through with strain from crying. "I need you, Changmin. I can't do this without you. I love you. I really do. I'm sorry I'm not the one you love." 

Quite suddenly the thick weight in Changmin's chest is gone. 

↭

Backstage, after the enthusiastic circle with the dancers and both prayers meditation are complete, before the show light come on and the red ocean starts to roll, Yunho's hand slides into Changmin's, the anxious sweat of their palms slicking together. It's dark for a brief span of moments, the shadows around them glowing faintly crimson from the fanlights.

Yunho bumps his shoulder against Changmin's, who turns to look at him. Nervous energy hums between them, but it starts to fizzle when their eyes meet, starts to fade away when Changmin leans down that slight distance to press his brow to Yunho's. 

"Thank you," Yunho whispers loudly, trying to share a private moment while also trying to be louder than the crowd.

Changmin gives a little half smile. "What for?" 

Yunho lean closer so he can speak softly against Changmin's ear, properly private, properly just for them. "For falling in love with me."

Changmin thinks he should be the one thanking Yunho, but he smiles just the same, cheeks feeling warm as flustered embarrassment birefly rushes into his face. He can feel the brush of Yunho's fingertips against his neck, where a scar almost was to match Yunho's own.

The lights go up, and then the show begins.


End file.
